


Of Memories and Lifetimes

by TheSupernova



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Blink-and-you'll-miss-it mentions of self harm, Depression, F/M, headcannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:03:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSupernova/pseuds/TheSupernova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story is basically my entire headcanon for the life of Agent Carolina before, during and after Project Freelancer up to somewhere close to current canonical events. It's also just something I wanted to write to try and look at the Director's insanity following Allison's death from someone else's eyes.</p></blockquote>





	Of Memories and Lifetimes

On her first day at school, a boy made fun of her hair. He said it was weird for people to have such vivid red hair. Well, she didn’t think he used the word vivid, because she refused to believe he was that smart.

She was scared, because she was shy and didn't know how to respond. Sometimes she used to yell just so people would leave her alone. She always wished she could melt into the background, but bright, fiery hair and gleaming emerald eyes were not made for remaining unseen. One day she would understand that fading away was not her destiny, no matter how hard she tried.

The boy laughed when she didn't respond. She was too young to know that he wasn't trying to laugh  _at_  her. People her age were a mystery to her. She'd been so sheltered her entire life, her parents moving around too much for her to ever make real friends.

She should have known the boy didn't really mean it. He was just teasing, in the way that kids did before they learnt what it was to be cruel. She _should_ have known, but she didn't. Her tiny fist connected with his jaw as she screamed that she couldn't help what she looked like.

The school called her parents, taking the cowering boy away as she stood bravely in the focus of her peers. Her mother wasn't there to answer the phone. Her father picked up the third time they rang. She sat outside the principal's office, tears streaking down her chin. Her feet didn't reach the ground from the too-big chair. She sniffled quietly, her shallow breaths sounding so much louder in the big, empty room. She wasn’t brave now, she was terrified.

When her father finally arrived, he knelt down in front of her and gave her a gentle hug. He went in to speak with the principal, and she sat outside, clutching her large schoolbag to her chest and crying quietly. She heard nothing for five, ten minutes before the door opened again. Her father came out quickly, sweeping her tiny frame up in one hand to carry her out to the car.

He slid her carefully into the front seat, putting her bag in the back before getting in himself. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her oversized jumper, hiccupping and waiting for an onslaught of severe words. Sitting in the massive car, barely able to see out of the window, the entire world felt too big for her. Her father said nothing as he put the car in gear, pulled out of the parking lot and started driving home. There was almost no traffic on the roads, it was the emptiest she'd ever seen them.

While they were speeding down the highway, he put a hand on her knee and squeezed comfortingly. She stopped crying, just a little.

"Dealing with others is always going to be difficult for people like you and I," he said kindly. "Just try and make some friends."

That was all that was said on the matter. She went back to school the next day, stumbling into the classroom with newfound determination. She went up to the boy, a big purple bruise now blossoming on his cheek, and told him they were going to be friends. He held up his hands, scared, and told her his name was David.

* * *

Her mother was never around a lot when she was a kid. That was ok, she was used to it. Her mother had been in the military since before she was even born. When her mother did come home, she taught her how to fight and showed her all the things she'd learnt in the army. Once, she even showed her daughter the gun she carried. Her mother told her, with a smile on her face as she polished the metal, that caring for your equipment was one of the most important parts of being a soldier.

She received a wide-eyed stare in response, a look of absolute wonderment that came from the young girl realising the power right in front of her. She was instantly in awe of the shining metal grasped firmly between rough, calloused fingers.

She asked her mother if she could hold the gun, reaching out with small hands for the powerful weapon. Her mother laughed, and placed the unloaded pistol between her daughter's outstretched fingers. It was heavy, much heavier than her mother had made it look, and it fell to the ground with a clunk. Years later, the dent on the side would still remain in the metal.

She asked why it wasn't so heavy when her mother held it. She replied that it was, and it got heavier each time she used it.

Her mother understood her difficulty fitting in. When she learned of what her daughter did on the first day at school, she laughed and ruffled her fiery hair. Later, when it was late and she should have been sleeping, her mother crept into her room holding an old photograph.

In the light of a dim torch, huddled underneath the blankets, she saw mother and father were standing together in a park, a tall oak tree rising up behind them. Her father was sporting a black eye, but he was still smiling lopsidedly, an arm looped around the woman beside him. She listened as her mother whispered that she was the one who had given him the injury, during  a fight.

The girl was enraptured by the image. It was proof that she held a part of her mother within her, proof that she would always carry her mother with her no matter where she went. Her mother left it to her, and she clutched it between her fingers as she slept.

She woke with strands of her red hair clinging to its glossy surface. Carefully, she pulled a heavy, leather bound book from her bookshelf and placed the photo inside the cover. It was her favourite book, one her father had given her on her last birthday. The photo would be safe there, with other precious memories she needed to store. A pressed leaf from the park, the coin she found under her pillow when she lost her first tooth, a button from her favourite winter coat, they were all hidden within its pages. And now, the photo of her parents was there too.

* * *

She was nine years old, and it was raining. That was what she remembered most about the day. She always hated the rain after that day. The knock on her door was slow and heavy, insistent like the storm that had been pounding towards them from the far-off city since dawn. Her father wouldn't answer it, he was in his study. She was making dinner for two of them, a saucepan simmering on the stove. She wiped her hands on her jeans, and went to open the door.

There were two strange men outside, and they asked if her father was home. She was scared by these men, who were so big and unwelcoming. They were wearing green army uniforms, like the one she'd seen her mother wearing on special occasions.

She went to get her father, because she hoped he would make them leave. Instead he invited them in, and told her to go back to the kitchen. The men said that she should stay, and she was left not knowing what to do. She wanted to go back to the safety of the kitchen, to the familiarity of the sauce boiling on the stove and the pasta she needed to put in or else it wouldn’t be ready in time. But then, she also wanted to stay, to know why these men were here. Her father said she could sit on the couch if she wanted to, so she did.

The men started to talk about her mother. She didn't understand most of it. They handed her father a letter, and she heard the phrase 'killed in action'. Her father was shaking when they left.

She'd never once seen someone so strong look so weak.

That night was the first time she ever heard her father cry. He locked himself in the study, but his wailing sobs and the banging that would continue on through the night could be heard even through the thick door.

She picked up the letter from the floor, carrying it back to her room. She barely remembered to turn the stove off first. She spent a very long time trying to read it. There were a lot of words that she could read but didn't really understand. It wasn't until she read one of the final lines that she realised why her father was downstairs in his office crying.

'Allison Beth Church: Killed in Action.'

Her mother wasn't coming home. She wouldn't be there for thanksgiving, like she promised. She wouldn't ever be there again.

The letter was smudged with her tears as she finally understood what was happening. She might have only been nine years old, but she understood what death was. It was permanent.

She wouldn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

* * *

She scanned the faces in the crowd, both trying not to get her hopes up and secretly wishing that she would see him. It had been almost three days since he'd last emerged from his study, she was beginning to forget she even had a father.

Two weeks ago, as they ate breakfast together for the first time in months, she told him the time and date, handing him a piece of paper with the address.

She'd worked so hard. For years she'd been pushing herself, always trying to be the best. Every morning she'd woken up swearing to be better than she had been the day before. Now she was graduating. She was valedictorian of her entire year, one of her greatest achievements so far.

Half the reason she'd been so determined was because she hoped he might finally realise she was still there. She thought that this might at least warrant some form of recognition. A congratulations, a smile, hell even a nod would do! She just needed something,  _anything_ , to tell her that she was still remembered.

It didn't look like it would happen. She sat back into her seat, giving up. Anger and betrayal threatened to overflow within her. There was hurt too, but she was used to that. The ceremony started, and with practiced determination she stopped the tears that were pricking at her eyes. He wasn't coming.

She'd always wanted to be like her father. When she was little, she told everyone that she was going to be a famous researcher, that she would make important discoveries. Most people would laugh at her, not understanding why she had such a strange determination. Of course, that all changed the day her mother died.

For years she'd vowed to join the army. Her mother had died fighting in the war, she was going to make sure she did everything possible to see its end. The alien bastards that killed her mother were going to be wiped from the universe, one battle at a time.

She laughed bitterly, realising that she and her father _did_ have something in common. Neither of them could let it go. She scowled, pushing the thought aside. She was putting her grief to use. It forced her to keep trying, to keep going as she reached for her goals.

The pain of her mother's death held  _him_  back, locked him up within a prison of memories. He was trapped by the pain. She was freed by it. She would not let her mother's death be in vain. She would join the army even if it killed her.

* * *

When she got her acceptance letter, she barely spared a glance at the door to the study. Like he would care. Instead she grabbed the keys from the kitchen bench and got in the car. Minutes later, she pulled up outside the house of her only friend.

She knocked rapidly, excitement winding tightly around her chest, making it hard to breath. David pulled the door open, looking confusedly at her and blinking sleep out of his eyes. He was shirtless, his blonde hair sticking up at odd angles. She'd forgotten how early it was.

In place of an apology, she pulled the letter from her pocket and thrust it in his direction. It was slightly crumpled from being stuffed into her jacket so quickly. She bounced on the balls of her feet as he took it, eyes scanning over the words. Finally, his face split into a grin.

Pulling a hand out from behind his back, he held up an almost identical letter. She hugged him tightly, breathless from a mixture of nerves and anticipation, and he hugged her back. It was a welcome change to her beating the crap out of him, like she usually did.

* * *

"I'm leaving."

The words probably hurt him. She hoped they did. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the darkest, most twisted part of her smiled sadistically as she imagined the words cutting through his heart like a knife.

He glanced up from the paper. Why he was reading it, she didn't know. He'd never made an effort before to keep up with current affairs. After all, reading about news in the world would mean accepting it had moved on from _her_ death, when he’d been unable to.

"Where are you going?" His voice sounded so small, so…childlike.

How could this be the same man she'd known as a child? Was he really the one who had comforted her when she was just a girl, who had been warm and understanding even when she did something wrong? Without him, her world would have fallen apart a long time ago.

She shook her head, clearing those thoughts. She couldn't forgive him. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't, not matter what happened or how much she wanted to. He didn't deserve it.

Her shadow was cast long over the table, a duffel bag slung across her shoulders. In the fading dusk sunlight, with him sitting there, the kitchen looked almost as it had when her mother was still alive.

She was wearing a UNSC uniform, one David had picked up for her.

"I'm joining the army."

His eyes glimmered with sadness and regret. Those bright green eyes, always trapped behind glass and always inescapable because they were there each time she looked in the mirror, those eyes told a story. He had expected this, maybe he'd always expected it. Her biggest attempt at hurting him was just another part of his plan.

Maybe he was glad she was leaving. He wouldn't have to care for someone else anymore, he could focus solely on his work. She knew that without her, he would waste away in his study without even realising what he'd become.

"You're so much taller…"

He said it so curiously, as though he really couldn't figure out why she now towered over the kitchen table when once she'd struggled just to reach it. Did he even remember that any time had passed at all?

"I grew up," she said, her voice losing its stern edge. "I graduated last fall, remember?"

Her tone was sad. She was still a child in his eyes.

"Last fall…"

He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time in so,  _so_ long. He saw what his daughter had become, the woman she was turning into. For a moment, he almost looked proud of the strength and determination she possessed. Then that moment ended.

She realised too late that he wasn't seeing her. He was seeing his wife, the woman who had left him so long ago. That was all she was to him now, a reminder. It was the reason he'd avoided her all these years. She was a constant memory of what he had lost, because she was far too similar to  _her_.

It wasn't an excuse. It wasn't even a good enough reason. But it was something. To her, who'd always thought he was just too weak to face the fact that she was gone, it was enough.

She tried, she really did, to keep her expression firm. Slowly her eyes softened, the harsh steel gaze melting, just a little. The rest followed, her scowl turning to a melancholic smile. She understood the pain he was feeling, she understood his reasons. Finally, after a lifetime, she simply understood.

"I've been…" he trailed off, his words forgotten for a moment. "I've been working so hard."

She stared at him, confusion and concern mixing across her features. Had years of locking himself away in that study eroded his sanity to the point where he couldn't even make sense of his own thoughts?

"I know," she said sadly, trying to comfort him.

"I had to preserve her memory," he said.

Suddenly, he began frantically searching through the papers on the desk. These were the ones that had overflowed from the chaos of his study, spilling out across every surface in the house. He looked like a madman, desperately throwing papers around, unshaven beard and hair straggling around his once sharp face. Even his glasses, now sitting askew on his nose, were dusty and smudged, cracked in places from being dropped. She’d never known her father to be so careless.

She was about to stop him out of pity when his hands clutched around a thick document, pulling it from the mess of papers and notes. He held it out to her almost hesitantly, as though he were afraid she would reject him. She took it, leafing quickly through the pages as her eyes skimmed across the text.

It was a proposal, for a military research program. There seemed to be a lot of mention of AI personalities. On the back page, there was a signature scrawled above the title 'Chairman of the Oversight Sub-committee' and 'APPROVED' stamped beside it in big, red letters.

Her eyes widened, realisation dawning upon her. He hadn't been going mad within the walls of his study, he'd been researching, working on a way to prevent future soldiers from meeting the same fate as his wife. He was dealing with the pain, in his own way.

"I'll be working for the military too," he said quietly.

She smiled sadly, replying, "I doubt we'll be seeing much of each other for a while."

Her voice wasn't light, but it was still better than it had been. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, an unbearable burden she didn't know she'd been carrying released without warning. She knew that she could go, because he was going to be fine. He wasn't going to die without her, alone and forgotten locked in his study.

She wanted to say goodbye. This was her farewell, and she knew that she may never see him again. Against every vow she'd made to herself, she had forgiven him. It was clear that no matter what, he would always be forgiven. But she still couldn't bring herself to say goodbye.

' _Don't say goodbye. I hate goodbyes.'_

Her mother's words echoed in her ears as she leant down, kissing his forehead. Then without another word she left, closing the door to her old home and her old life behind her. Maybe it would wait for her, but she knew she would never come back to this place. There were too many memories. It was the last she would see of that house, of that far-off city shining in the distance, a beacon of light calling her away to the docks of ships waiting to ascend into space, to carry her out into the galaxy. As the slamming of the door echoed in her ears, it was the last time she would live that life.

* * *

Basic training had been hell. Three months of pure physical and mental torture. Even so, there still hadn't been a single moment when she'd wanted to give up. Now she'd done it. She'd actually made it. Nobody could tell her now that she wasn't a real soldier, that she wasn't good enough or that she wasn't worthy of defending the human race.

She stepped out of the military complex, onto the surface of Reach, a soldier and a woman. She'd grown up a lot in three months, more than she ever had throughout her entire life before. She was still pretty damn short though.

David had already gone off with his squad mates to get drinks, in celebration. He'd told her the address of the nightclub they planned to go to. Although she originally had no intentions of joining him, there was still some part of her that was loyal to her childhood friend. Her memories of alcohol weren't pleasant. The image of her father, passed out on the couch with an empty bottle hanging from his fingers or his lips, wasn't pleasant. But for David's sake, she would go, and she would at least attempt to enjoy herself.

It was easy to find. The Vyrant Telecom Tower was practically in the centre of New Alexandria, not to mention it was the tallest building in the city. Even though the club was on the top floors, high above the city and the sidewalk she was moving down, she could still hear the music and see the flashing lights.

David wasn't outside waiting for her. She went inside the building, travelling up to the top floor in an elevator with a lot of other soldiers like herself. There was a pretty big line outside the clubs. She flashed her military ID to the bouncer and said something about her friends being inside and he let her through without a single question.

The club looked pretty popular. A DJ resided over it in a booth above the dance floor, playing a fast rock tune that blared out of the speakers and made the entire floor shake. A bright holographic display moved above the whole scene, changing and moving with the beat of the music as one song melted into another.

People danced, flashing lights swinging across their swaying, jumping bodies. There were so many that the dance floor spilled out onto the balcony as well. The whole club was lit with neon lights, bright oranges and purples that were sure to give her a headache soon. The club logo, an orange circle that cut away to encase the name of the club,  _Errera_ , hung in multiple places on the walls.

She walked up to the bar, still looking for David. She contemplated calling him, but there was no way she'd be able to hear a word he said. That was if he picked up in the first place. Her eyes scanned across the faces and backs of heads that she could see, but none of them belonged to David.

She saw a flash of blonde hair, and for just a second she thought it was him. Her hopes were shattered when she turned to look properly. It was just some guy, playing with a lighter. It had the club symbol on it, and he was flicking it on and off over and over again. She frowned. The flame came dangerously close to the glass of beer he was drinking. He was sitting right in front of highly flammable alcohol, and he wanted to play with fire?

Unable to stop herself, she stalked right up to him and snatched the lighter from his hands just as he was about to flick it on again. He looked surprised, staring up at her as though he didn't know whether to be confused, angry or amused. Eventually he settled on amused.

"Do you have a death wish?" she growled.

She was sick of reckless people. Too many times during basic she'd seen people nearly killed by putting themselves in unnecessary danger. What was the point of being a hero if it got you killed? She knew her mother had died trying to save people like that from their own stupidity.

"Relax, I was just messing around," he said, plucking the lighter from her hands and stowing it in his pocket.

He looked a little more relaxed, now that the initial shock had worn off. He seemed pretty laid-back, leaning comfortably against the bar as he waited for her response.

Her chance to make another remark was taken when a hand clapped itself on her shoulder. She tensed, whirling around ready to absolutely destroy whoever was behind her. She stopped her fist just short of breaking David's nose.

"Heeeey, boss," he slurred, dropping his hand to steady himself against the bar.

She couldn't remember when he'd taken to calling her 'boss'. It had probably been when she'd ranker higher than him during their first training mission.

He swayed unsteadily, an empty glass in his hands. She wondered how many he'd had.

"Friend of yours?" This guy was really starting to get on her nerves. His voice was clearly amused as he moved out of the way of David's stumbling movements.

She didn't reply, instead she tried to move David outside, where he could hopefully get some fresh air. The second she started, he collapsed on the floor and almost shattered the empty glass in the process.

Before she could protest, the guy from the bar was slinging one of David's arms across his shoulders. She had to admit, she could use the help, so she let him drag half of the unconscious man's weight out onto the terrace.

Dropping David down on a seat as far from the edge as possible, she left him in favour of looking out over the balcony. He could take care of himself. The other guy followed her, pulling out his lighter again. He leaned his elbows onto the metal railing, staring amusedly at David while she looked out over the city.

New Alexandria stretched on for miles, all glimmering lights and laughing voices that rose up from the street, breaking through the dull roar of the club. In a word, the city was  _alive_. In the midst of a war, it was free.

"You two in the UNSC?"

His voice shattered her thoughts, bringing her back to reality. It was a shame. For a moment, she'd been almost…happy. Well, not happy exactly. Peaceful, that was the word.

"Just got out of basic," she answered, smiling sadly.

She felt bad about not calling him. He was her father after all, lacklustre upbringing or not. Still, she didn't know what to say to him. In three months, every explanation she'd come up with sounded cheap and forced.

"I've been an army man myself for a couple of years now," he said casually, once more pulling her away from her internal thoughts.

She looked over, seeing him roll up his sleeve to reveal a small tattoo on the underside of his arm. Black ink formed the UNSC insignia. There was a number below it, his identification code.

"You're a soldier." She made no attempt to hide the surprise in her voice.

"Yeah," he said, laughing. "They call me York."

She stared dubiously at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow curiously at the name.

"I'm from New York," he defended. "It's just the nickname that stuck."

She shook her head at the explanation, but accepted the hand. His grip was warm and firm, he was obviously as sure of himself as he sounded.

* * *

Seven years.

She hadn't spoken to her own father, in  _seven years._ Not since before basic, when she'd still been a naïve kid who thought that joining the army was the only way to avenge her mother's tragic death. Now though, she'd seen the worst a battlefield could throw at her. She understood exactly what happened to those who weren't strong enough.

Her once flawless body was covered in scars, threads of red and silver criss-crossing over her marble skin. Every thought she had was of survival, of making herself better, faster, stronger. She'd watched more team members die than she could ever,  _ever_  let herself think about. She was more broken that she could ever admit.

For all of that strength, she still couldn't face him. She'd expected that he'd forgotten he even had a daughter. It had been more than a surprise when she'd received an invitation to the forum where the top military scientists would present their findings and fight for approval for further research.

Her father would be there. There were rumours that he would be announcing his biggest project yet that night. In seven years, he'd advanced faster than anyone had ever expected into the top ranks of the military, earning respect from everyone in his field. She often wondered 'but at what cost?'.

She tugged uncertainly on her military shirt, stepping inside the large glass doors as they parted. Everyone else wore similar clothing, or formal suits for those who weren't in the military. At least she had made the right choice in this regard.

The presentation was going to begin soon. She'd put off leaving as long as possible. She didn't want to run into her father before she had a chance to see him on stage. She needed to know if he was better, if he'd really become the man he once was.

Moving through the mass of idly conversing people, she made her way into the amphitheatre reserved for the event. She took an empty seat at the back, watching the rest of the people filter in slowly.

When the lights dimmed, every single seat was occupied. There were several on stage, and soon scientists came to occupy these too. Most were old men, with greying hair and wrinkled faces. There was one exception, one that made her heart stutter and breath catch quietly. He sat at the end of the line, face hidden in shadows and eyes unseeable through the glare on his glasses.

A high-ranking officer opened the ceremony. She didn't listen to a word of the speech. She stood when everyone else did, saluted and applauded in all the right places. Time seemed to move faster and faster as she waited, bringing her closer to the inevitable moment when her father would stand and present his research.

When he finally stepped into the light at the podium, she hardly recognised him. He stood straight-backed and firm-jawed, wearing rectangular, black-rimmed glasses and a suit that fit him perfectly. She'd only ever seen him wear a suit once before. That had been at her mother's memorial.

As he began to speak, the screen on the wall behind him that had aided each of the other scientists flickered to life once more. It reacted to his words, changing as he presented the findings of his research. She sensed a change in the amphitheatre when he began to propose his new plan. Everything seemed to go cold, everyone held their breath. They were all waiting for the next great phase of research from the great Dr. Leonard Church.

"I propose that we set up a new branch within the military," he said, confident and calm.

She scarcely believed that it was  _his_  voice. Could this really be the same man who had once comforted her when she was bullied, or the one who mourned his wife's death so deeply that it drove him insane? His voice was like ice, he spoke with passion but no trace of real emotion. Was this really what he had become? All the warmth she remembered when she thought of her father, it was gone. From his voice, from his posture, from his actions, it had disappeared.

"Now that we have viable artificial intelligence programs, AI research has taken a back seat."

On the screen, the images changed from facts and statistics to a 3D model of an AI, in obvious pain as it clutched at its head and screamed silently.

"However, we have yet to solve the problem of rampancy."

The screen shifted again, now showing soldiers in Spartan suits on the field, in labs, changing too quickly for her to really see.

"I propose setting up a new facility, designed specifically to test theoretical AI concepts in the field and in the lab. Eventually this will result in the creation of a new breed of soldiers, much like the Spartans only less dependent on biotechnology and more so on AI."

More statistics took the place of the changing pictures, graphs and data that she didn't fully understand or comprehend.

"The ultimate aim of this program is to allow soldiers to operate in the field with almost no chance of fatality. With the proposed research, we can assign AI more widely to prevent further death in our ranks and fuel the war effort."

He talked more about the specifics of it, of the exact funding and equipment he would need. He spoke of the morality of such an endeavour, of undertaking such experimental procedures on AI that were still considered, at least partially, to be human. Every word that came from his mouth was a blow to the hopes she had tried so hard not to raise.

He was focused and driven, a different man to the one who had drunk himself into oblivion so many years ago, but he lacked something else. The one thing she had come here hoping to find was missing.

She still sought him out after the presentation. She had to see for herself, to make absolutely sure of what she had seen on that stage. She found him, talking to someone she didn't recognise. A group of people in business suits surrounded them, and then he was left alone.

"Hello," she said, bowing her head as she stepped into his line of site. She didn't know if she could look him in the eye.

"I didn't expect you to be here," he said curtly. Not hostile, but not welcoming either.

"I received an invitation."

"I've been reviewing your mission files from the last few years. They're very impressive."

Was that a compliment? She raised her head, searching for some kind of approval in his face, but found none. There was only harsh, steely resolve. She sighed slightly, knowing now that there was no hope of him ever being the same as he had back then.

"Once we have approval, you'll be joining my program."

That was one thing she hadn't expected. He was making decision for her now? Since when? This wasn't his call, it was hers. He had no right to try and control her as though she was still a child. She was a seasoned soldier, not a girl anymore. And he'd lost any claim he had to fatherhood a long time ago.

She'd approached her father with hope of reconciling the past with him. Now she could think of nothing but the anger boiling within her stomach, the furious rage pounding in her head.

"Don't I get a say in this?" she hissed, aware that they were surrounded by people who could put an end to either of their careers. He paid no attention to her, it was as though she hadn't even spoken.

"We are still short on candidates. You are to select two soldiers to join the program with you. Make sure their results are as good as your own."

"I never asked to be part of this," she said, trying not to raise her voice.

"Your reassignment will come through as soon as the project has clearance."

* * *

Agent Carolina. The name still tasted strange on her tongue, and yet she barely remembered having any other name now. After years of pushing herself towards the insurmountable goal of winning the war, she finally had something tangible to show for her efforts.

Number one on the leaderboard.

Leader of the Freelancers.

Agent Carolina.

Project Freelancer had become her new family. David was there, with a new codename of Washington. When was the last time she had called him by name? York was there too, still going by the same nickname he'd been clinging to when she first met him.

York was the first claim she’d ever had to something resembling a normal relationship. They fought, hell knows they fought, and when they did it was big. But of course, he was the only one who could bring her out of her rage.

He was the only one who could take Carolina into his arms and make her feel loved and protected, as strange as it was to her. York was the only one who saw all of her scars, some from the battlefield and others…not. He never asked, he saw her for what she was and he accepted her.

Without York, Carolina would crumble. He’d become the pillars that held her up, the strength she needed when her own failed. His touch set a fire that burned low in her stomach, his laughter and half-mocking jabs brought out the best in her. York’s kisses both stole her breath away, and gave her the bursts of oxygen she needed to survive. Without him, she would ultimately always fall.

* * *

Everything Carolina had worked for was ruined the day  _she_  showed up. Agent Texas, the mysterious soldier clad in black, the one who could win a three on one fight with some of the best soldiers in the military.

Carolina had known something was up the day she'd seen the men in black suits helping her after the fight. The sparks coming from her injured arm, the fact that she was given special treatment… It just didn't make sense.

There was another reason Carolina couldn't stand her, one she would never admit out loud. She was jealous of the way the Director defended her, the way he treated her like she was the most important thing he had.

Carolina was his daughter. That should have at least counted for something. The only other person she'd ever seen him care for that much was her mother.

' _She's dead,'_ Carolina reminded herself. ' _Gone.'_

Still, something didn't add up about Texas. She was determined to find out what.

Once she learned the truth, it all seemed to fit into place.

Well, not the special treatment Texas seemed to get, but Carolina was too far gone at that point to care. Omega didn't account for that, but even as the part of her mind that knew this screamed it at her, Carolina didn't listen.

The bitch had an AI the whole time. That was the only reason she managed to push her way to the top of the leader board. If Carolina still had Sigma…

Well, she didn't need him anymore. She had  _two_  AI of her own now, and she wasn't about to let Texas steal her position without a fight. Carolina would rather die.

She barely listened to a word of what York said to her before the fight. F.I.L.S.S's voice rang out across the training room floor. Carolina counted down the seconds until she could tear Texas to pieces.

Carolina would not be bested by Texas.

She ran forward, intent on destroying the black soldier.

A single word from the Director brought her to her knees, sliding past Texas as pain consumed her.

' _Allison? Allison! ALLISON'!_

She ripped off her helmet, barely aware of what she was doing. Hands came up to clutch at her skull, her hands, as screams tore from her throat.

"Make it stop!" she gasped through gritted teeth.

She begged them to stop, to just make the fucking voices in her head STOP! It hurt, more than anything she'd ever experienced. It was so unbearable that she couldn't even think beyond the one word rolling around in her skull, echoing and twisting but never stopping.

' _ALLISON!'_

"No…" she groaned weakly, fighting a losing battle. The pain was too intense.

Even through the haze of fire burning through every nerve in her body, she finally understood. She knew now why he'd been so interested in AI, why it had become his life's work to perfect them. All of them. Every. Single. Fragment had been nothing more than an attempt to bring back the dead.

' _Allison…'_

A dull crack reverberated around the arena as a fist connected with her skull.

The world went black, and the voices stopped.

* * *

When she learned the truth, the whole truth, she felt numb. Her body stopped responding, as though it simply couldn’t handle the knowledge of what the Director, _her own father,_ had done.

Sitting in some counsellor’s office, finally hearing the truth about her father’s insanity, was too much for even her.

He’d broken into facilities with the highest security level imaginable. He’d stolen artefacts, _tortured_ helpless AI, and then…

No, it was too painful. She couldn’t even think about it.

Texas didn’t just have an AI. She _was_ an AI. The Alpha AI finally made sense now. He wanted Allison back, as _he_ ’ _d_ remembered her. He needed an AI taken from his own mind, if he was to extract those memories and fabricate them into a conscious being. Texas was a shadow, a damn shadow of a woman long dead. Nothing more than a ghost.

_‘A ghost that beat you,’_ the voice in her mind mocked. _‘A ghost that your own father loved more than you.’_

The Director had broken the law. He’d committed crimes amounting to treason. He’d betrayed the memory of Allison, her mother.

Before then, she’d never truly known what rage felt like.

He was gone. York… He was dead. The only man she had ever allowed herself to love had abandoned her.

' _Just like your father,'_ the voice in her mind taunted her.

Carolina wouldn't cry. She would not allow herself that weakness.

They were all gone now. York, the twins, Wyoming, even Maine, who had once seemed so indestructible. Carolina knew better than to think that anyone was immortal. Nobody was beyond the laws of the universe. And then there was CT. Killed just for doing what she thought was right, murdered by Texas right in front of Carolina. They were all dead.

Almost. There was still one link to her past left, and Carolina was determined to find it. Not just a link to her days at Project Freelancer, but to a life before that, one she had struggled to forget for so long now. There was something she needed to do, but it couldn't be done alone. She had to find him.

Agent Washington.

* * *

She had to kill the Director. He would die by her hand. That was the only way it would be right. Agent Carolina, a monster of his own creation, one of the most feared soldiers in the military, would be the one to kill her father. She was the last living link to Allison left in this world. It was only fitting that she be the one to destroy the man tainting her mother's memory.

The Reds and Blues were supposed to help her. They had the Epsilon AI, the ones based on the Director's memories. It was the only way. After years of following the Director without question, of doing every single thing he'd ever asked in a hopeless attempt to be good enough, she was done.

Carolina knew now what she should have realised years ago. In his eyes, she could never live up to her mother's memory. Nobody could, not even Allison herself.

So even if the Blood Gulch soldiers were reckless, immature and a failure as a squad, she would do whatever it took to get them to lead her to the Director.

She would find him, and she would kill him. It was the only way to set things right. It was the only way to make him pay.

"Beginning playback."

Carolina knew that sound, knew it all too well. The mechanical voice of F.I.L.S.S. echoed out into the metal hallway, shaking through the air and past the lone soldier walking through it, walking towards her fate.

The room at the end of the corridor was cold and dark, like the heart of the sole man inhabiting it.

His eyes were fixed on a screen in front of him, playing the same clip over and over again. How many times now? How many times had he seen this, his last memory of her, trying to make the impossible possible by breaking every rule in the book?

It was almost heartbreaking.

"Hello Director."

"Hello, Agent Carolina."

He didn't look at her. He didn't turn around, or move his gaze from the screen where the clip played in an endless loop. She stepped to the side of his chair, trying to see if even now his face held no trace of emotion. The only thing she saw was a heart-wrenching stare of longing, of loneliness.

But his eyes were still dead and emotionless.

"Would you like to watch this file with me?" he asked, seemingly unaware of the hatred she held for him.

"No," she replied. This had to end, now.

He slumped in the chair, a tired old man who had grown weary of life. Even that angered her. Wasn't this the man who had once told her that anything was preferable to giving up? This was the man who had driven her to become the best soldier in the military. To look at him now was pathetic.

The clip ended, screen fading to black.

"Play it again, F.I.L.S.S.," the Director ordered.

"Director?" The reply seemed almost worried.

"Again!" he yelled, voice echoing in the small room. The demand was punctuated by the thud of his fist slamming harshly against the table.

The clip began anew, the blonde-haired soldier protesting weakly towards the camera. She was smiling happily, unaware of what she was leaving behind, of the pain she would soon be causing.

She finally realised what she'd done. Much like he had immortalised the memory of Allison, of the woman he had married and fallen in love with, she had done the same to him. Nobody was immortal, and yet in her mind Carolina had thought of the Director as an immovable force, someone that would always be there, someone she would always be trying to impress. She had created an all-powerful God, and treated him accordingly. That was why it hurt so much, to see him like this. Her reality was being shattered by the one sitting before her.

"So this is what you've become," she said.

She meant it to be cruel, but her tone was quiet, sad. It wasn't fair that only he had been affected like this. She'd often blamed herself, wondering if she hadn't loved her mother enough. Should she have been so consumed by grief too?

"I just need to watch this," he said, barely hearing her words.

They both knew what intentions she had come there with. Yet still he wouldn't give up on his dream, his endless fantasy of a world where he could bring her back, perfectly.

"I think I have a way… A way to bring her back right this time."

Carolina looked at him. There was disgust clear on her face, but she knew it was forced. She could see his sadness and feel his pain. It wasn't fair to have everything you loved torn away from you so unjustly. She knew now what it felt like to be told the one you loved was dead.

"The authorities are hunting you now," Carolina said. "If I found you, they will too."

"I just need more time!" he said insistently, quietly.

Light burst into the room, the Epsilon fragment blinking into existence beside Carolina. Church floated angrily over to the Director, the shadows in the room shifting as he moved.

"Church," Carolina said.

It was painful, defending the Director, but she just couldn't….

…Could she really go through with this?

"Not all of us got off scot free, Carolina," Epsilon said harshly.

He yelled at the Director, flashing through all of the fragments as his anger grew beyond the capacity of just one part of his personality. Carolina didn't try to stop him. After everything his creator had put him through, the AI deserved this chance at least.

When he finally stopped, only the sounds of the video clip filled the room.

"Leonard, come on," Allison's voice said, laughing, "I have to go."

Carolina pulled off her helmet, her fiery red ponytail tumbling out over her shoulders. She tried to seem angry, she had to stay mad. She couldn't let herself forgive him. It wouldn't be like all those years ago, it  _couldn't_! So many times before she'd faltered, let her anger leave her but this time would be different.

The Director reached up wearily, dragging his glasses down his nose and finally off completely. He looked up hesitantly, slowly meeting Carolina's gaze with his own.

Those eyes… So tired. So completely, utterly worn out by life.

This was the man who had once loved someone with all of his heart. This was the man who had spent nine years locked in a study because he truly believed he could bring her back. This was the man who had known failure more times than anyone ever should in a lifetime. This was the man who couldn't let go of the pain, or the past.

And now, this was the man being consumed by all of these things, crushed by them. The oppressive weight of everything he had ever known and seen was finally too much for a worn old man.

Her emerald eyes were stony with anger. She hated him. She had to hate him, she… couldn't hate him.

Slowly, the harshness in her eyes faded to sadness and pity. Her expression softened, her almost constant grimace melting into a sad smile.

There was nothing she could do now.

Leaning down, gently kissing him on the forehead, she remembered that day in their kitchen, all those years ago. She remembered truly believing that there was hope for the future, when he told her he had a plan to make his life better.

She wished she could go back, wished that she could do it all again and stop him before any of this had ever happened. She knew better than anyone that it was impossible to change the past, and trying would destroy the future

"Ready?" Allison's voice rang out from the speakers.

Carolina was ready, finally.

"Just a bit more time…" he trailed off, almost begging.

"Come on Church," Carolina said. "We're leaving."

If he hadn't worn a helmet, she had no doubt that his expression would have been furious.

"I thought we came all this way…" he paused, almost unable to finish, "To _kill_  him."

Carolina smiled to herself, a small, sad smile that wrought itself upon her features as she finally realised something.

"Church, remember what you learned in the memory unit?"

Her voice wavered as she spoke, but she continued regardless. To shop now would show more weakness than to continue falteringly.

"You need to let go."

She looked to the screen, then away again. The image of her mother, the knowledge of what the once great woman had been forced to become, was almost too much to bear.

"Your past doesn't define who you are," she continued. "It just gives you the starting point for who you're going to be."

She turned to leave, but she was stopped. The Director, her father, laid a hand on her arm.

"Agent Carolina?" she said.

"Yes Director?" Even now, she couldn't say it. The word 'father' wouldn't,  _couldn't_  leave her lips.

"Would you be so kind," he said, "as to leave me your pistol?"

Ah, so that was how it was going to be. Secretly, somewhere deep down, she had always known it was going to come to this. He had been unable to let go of Allison, and Carolina in turn couldn't let go of him. To destroy him would have destroyed her, and she couldn't have done that. Not really.

Unholstering her Magnum, she placed it gently on the table beside the Director. Her fingers brushed gently across the dent in its side, left from so long ago, as hesitantly she let go of it. How many lifetimes ago was it that she’d been laughing with her mother, blissfully unaware of the path of heartbreak that awaited her? It seemed too many to count, more than one woman, scarcely more than a girl, could bear. She’d been so focused on this for her entire life, that without it she would be lost, a child once more looking for meaning in the world.

"Thank you, Carolina."

"Goodbye, sir."

As she retreated from the room, left Epsilon with the Director as she swept out of the base with heavy footsteps, she swore she could hear her mother's voice.

"Don't say goodbye. I hate goodbyes."

* * *

The old photograph was worn and yellowed by the years, yet still flawlessly preserved. The cover of the book really had been the best place to keep it.

Looking out from the cliff, Carolina could see an entire world stretched out before her. True, Chorus was a world that needed saving. It sure as hell wasn't ready to be called anybody's home yet, but it was a start.

Completely aware of Epsilon's presence behind her, she finally did what she had to. The book was gone already, memories from a life she could never go back to lobbed out into the valley far below. It had been a weight she’d carried around with her, back when she’d thought she had to hold those memories close. Now though, she’d seen what clutching to memories could do.

Pressing a kiss to both figures in the picture, Carolina knew it was time. She'd told Church that he had to let go of the past, now it was her turn to do the same.

Fingers stretched out, towards the warmth of the sun on a new day on a new world, she released her grip. The wind carried the photograph, and all the memories it held, away from her forever.

One life was over, and another could begin.

"Goodbye."

**Author's Note:**

> This story is basically my entire headcanon for the life of Agent Carolina before, during and after Project Freelancer up to somewhere close to current canonical events. It's also just something I wanted to write to try and look at the Director's insanity following Allison's death from someone else's eyes.


End file.
